What though he perish, he may lift his eye VIII. Yet do I feel at times my mind decline, IX. I once was quick in feeling-that is o'er ;- And woo compassion to a blighted name, From long infection of a den like this, Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss, This this shall be a consecrated spot! But Thou—when all that Birth and Beauty throws No power in death can tear our names apart, As none in life could rend thee from my heart. Yes, Leonora! it shall be our fate To be entwined for ever-but too late! POEMS. WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 1. As o'er the cold sepulchral stone 2. And when by thee that name is read, Reflect on me as on the dead, And think my heart is buried here. September 14th, 1809. |